


Camping Trip

by DemidovNotDicaprio



Category: The Office US
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-16 02:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemidovNotDicaprio/pseuds/DemidovNotDicaprio
Summary: David tries to get you and Ryan to work as a team





	Camping Trip

“Why do we have to go camping anyway? Nobody goes camping anymore; we have houses,” Ryan whined like he had been for the entire three hour journey. David drummed irritatedly on the steering wheel, staring at Ryan in the mirror.  
“Because you two don’t know to cooperate. I’m sick of the bitching, Ryan, you’re on very thin ice with me at the minute.” David spoke firmly, his tone not unlike a teacher’s which beset in you a tingle of arousal, knowing you that you were in his graces- allied against the unruly schoolboy that sat next to you (neither of you was allowed to call shotgun for fear of another argument).  
“I can cooperate fine,” Ryan muttered, looking out of the window, “This is your fault.”  
“Say that louder,” you replied testily, shooting him a glare that he returned with a shy smile. Weirdo.  
David took a deep breath in the front, “If you start arguing now I’ll just leave you here at the roadside and you can sort yourselves out.”

The campsite was winsome; a brook opening in front of your pitch, the late summer breeze swaying long grasses and waving posies of wildflowers. The natural beauty was, of course, broken by Ryan’s preternatural whinging. David had bestowed the tent bag on the two of you, hoping against hopes in his New-England-Father way that the outdoors would eke out goodwill between you. It didn’t. You were at lot closer to stabbing him with a tent peg than you were creating anything resembling the three-man tent the picture on the bag promised. “This is ridiculous,”  
“I entirely agree, Howard. How you can’t read instructions at your big age is honestly quite shocking.”   
David looked up from his deckchair, the eternal referee to your squabbles, “What’s the problem now?”Ryan sighed dramatically, throwing the instructions at the floor, “This is so arbitrary and stupid,”  
“Just say you don’t know how to put a tent up,” You hissed, waving a connecting rod threateningly. Ryan glared at you, sitting himself on the grass in protest.   
David stood up, tall and commanding, “I’m going to collect firewood. If this tent isn’t put up when I get back, you’re both up for review in New York.”  
“You can’t do that-“ You appealed gently  
“Well I am. So put the goddamn tent up. You’re both adults.”

Ryan gave up with the tent after about five minutes, a level of concentration you hadn’t seen in him since the restrictions on the office wifi went down and he locked himself in the conference room with blacked-out windows to ‘finish spreadsheets’. The tent itself was easy to put up, you managed to cajole Ryan into helping a little, mostly just holding things while you affixed them in the correct manner. “I don’t see why you bitched about doing this for so long,” Ryan said breezily, “It was so easy.”  
Your response, while not particularly mature, was entirely justified. You launched yourself at him, knocking him and his ridiculous sweater-vest into the mud; landing soft punches to his chest as you pinned him down. He yelled out for David weakly, trying to crawl out from your grip.  
“You’re a psychopath!”

David came running from a thicket, shouting at you like you were foxes in his garbage. You let go of Ryan and he jumped up, feeling himself for the war-wounds he’d invent if they hadn’t magically appeared. “What the fuck is this?” David yelled at you, pointing at Ryan, flecked with dirt and on the verge of tears, “My kids don’t fight like this. And they’re in grade school!”  
You looked at your feet, thoroughly embarrassed by upsetting David, “The tent’s up,”  
“You could’ve killed Ryan!”  
You shook your head to point out that a rugby tackle and quick gut-punch is yet to kill anyone, and you survived a childhood of rough-and-tumble, but Ryan cut in before you could even blush.  
“It’s fine, David. I was being a dick,”  
David rubbed his temples, “You give me stress-headaches. I’m going for a walk, I’ll be back by six- if you haven’t killed each other by then. Christ,” he turned on his sneakered-heel, “It’s like Lord of the Flies.”  
Ryan shook his head at you, “I haven’t seen that film.”

The late afternoon stretched out ahead of you, and you took up a stoop in the shade of the tent to read while Ryan attempted in vain to get phone service. “No service…” He mumbled to himself bitterly, lying back on the grass at your feet (the urge to kick him was overwhelming).  
“Ry-an,”  
He looked up at you, “What?”  
“Why are you such a shit to me?”  
“Really?”  
You nodded, “Seriously, dude. You wrapped all my shit in cellophane the other week, like, what the fuck?”  
Ryan blushed, pulling at his stupid fucking sweater-vest (David had requested you dressed appropriately for camping. Fucking sweater-vest.)  
“I kind of have a thing for you, I thought you’d have noticed by now. It’s whatever you’re not even that attractive, I could do better.”  
You put the book down carefully and pulled him in for a quick kiss, “Please just tell me. You’ve been such an annoying prick.”  
Ryan grinned, leaning into you for another kiss; languid, his hand resting under your chin, tilting your head towards him.

If you’d have realised that Ryan’s pathetic complaining was just misplaced horniness, you could’ve saved yourself this hassle and banged back in the City but it felt right somehow, that you were fumbling around in the surprisingly expansive tent, vestal and serious as you undressed. This was an entirely different Ryan to the asshole that you sat opposite in the office and part of you wondered if this was just what he was like when he was sober. His slender body seemed to glow in the low light of the tent, a cluster of red bruises on his side were kissed chastely in apology and his hard, aching member taken in hand with firm dignity. He whinnied gently into your shoulder as you knelt in his lap, the angle of his slow, studied entry making you shiver in replete pleasure. 

Ryan gave off a lot of signals (repressed homosexual chiefly) but he did not seem the type to go in for gentle and slow love-making (as cliched as it sounded, you had been fucked before and this was decidedly not that), and yet he held your heaving body close to his hammering heart as the waves of his hips rose to the tidal pull of your flesh. You came with a sudden, shuddering moan against his newly-bruised neck and he slipped you off him to finish (in entirely more Ryanesque fashion) across your body, stroking out the last gasps into a cupped hand and reaching for a tissue from his wash bag. He helped to clean you up, passing you back the clothing which had been so recklessly thrown by the wayside in the moment of passion. 

You both dressed hurriedly, a psychically prudent decision as there was a loud and deliberate cough from beside the tent. “I assume you two have worked out your differences then?” It was David.  
You felt your face flame up and Ryan cringed, “Yeah. We didn’t kill each other, at least.”


End file.
